


You Build Your Tower (But Call Me Home)

by thefairfleming



Series: The Threesome in the North [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Sansa deal with Val's absence and come up with an excellent way to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Build Your Tower (But Call Me Home)

Sansa spends the rest of the day in her chambers. She tries to read for a bit, but when she finds herself reading the same sentence three times in a row, she abandons that in favor of sewing. She's always found comfort in stitching. Her fingers move deftly, surely, even as her mind wanders, and as late morning bleeds into afternoon, she repairs two of Jon's shirts and begins work on embroidering a pair of Val's gloves. They are rough, worn things, but Sansa stitches little pink roses across the edges nonetheless. Val deserves lovely things, whether she wants them or not.

               She will not quite admit it to herself, but Sansa is waiting for Jon, hoping he may return to her chambers. It occurs to her sometime around evenfall that she has no idea where they may sleep that night. She, Jon, and Val have always maintained separate rooms- Val insisted they should all have their own spaces- but in the evening, the three of them have always retired to Jon's chambers. Sansa has not slept one night in her bed since she was wed, but without Val there, she is unsure of whether Jon means to come to her room, or if she should go to his. 

               It's yet another thing to make her feel awkward and out of her depth, and Sansa makes up her mind to talk with Jon about it at dinner.

               But Jon is not at dinner. Sam, blushing, informs him that Jon has been called away, although he expects he should return later that night. So Sansa eats her supper alone in her chambers, changing into her nightgown before the sun has even set. 

               She sits there as the light grows dimmer, watching the fire, working on Val's gloves, and missing her wife almost more than she can bear. But she misses her husband, too, and she has almost made up her mind to go ask if Jon has returned when there's a soft knock at her door.

               Pulling on her dressing gown, Sansa goes to answer it. She's expecting Sam again, or perhaps one of her maids, telling her that Jon will not return this night after all. The thought causes such a steady ache in her chest that when Sansa opens the door to find Jon himself standing there, she nearly gasps in relief. 

               He looks tired and slightly unsure as he smiles and says, "Good evening, Sansa."

               "Good evening," she replies, pulling her dressing gown a little tighter around her neck. Ridiculous when he spent this afternoon kissing her, touching her, watching her come apart underneath Val's mouth. But still, without Val here, she cannot help but feel a bit shy, and, from the way his eyes slide from hers, she thinks Jon must have similar hesitations. 

               Hesitations or no, he asks if he may come in, and Sansa moves back with a murmured, "Of course."

               Jon moves into the room, looking around, and after a moment, gives a soft laugh. "Do you know, I'm not sure I've seen these rooms since we were married."

               "They're lovely," she tells him, stepping closer to the fire. "I know...that is, I had heard you had them specially made up for me."

               When Jon turns to her, Sansa's heart catches in her throat. After all these months of marriage, she should be used to how handsome he is, how he can look at her and say so much with merely his eyes. But it catches her unaware every time, and a lovely sort of thrill rushes through her.

               "I wanted you to be happy here," he says simply, and all Sansa can do is nod.

               Jon's gaze falls on the gloves Sansa was embroidering, and he bends slightly, picking them up and running his thumb over the row of rosebuds she stitched. "Aren't these Val's gloves?"

               Sansa's hands are still clasped in front of her. "They are, yes."

               The corner of Jon's mouth lifts in something close to a smile. His thumb continues to move over her embroidery, making something in Sansa's stomach coil pleasantly. He has such nice hands. Rough and gentle all at once, and the things they have made her feel...

               Her cheeks are warm when Jon chuckles, catching her eye. "You should cover all her clothes in little pink flowers. Teach her to leave us."

               The joke breaks some of the tension in the room, and Sansa finds herself smiling. "She'd only stride about naked to teach us a lesson."

               Jon laughs then and nods. "She would at that." 

               Their chuckles fade, but Jon is still smiling softly at her when he drops the gloves back to her chair and holds his hand out to her. "Will you sit with me, Sansa?"

               So odd to feel nervous after all they've done- all they've _been_ \- to one another, and yet Sansa's pulse flutters as she nods and places her hand in Jon's. "Yes, of course."

               He takes a seat on the low couch by the fire, pulling her down to sit next to him. There's a similar sofa in his room, one where they usually sit waiting for Val to finish her nightly rambles, and it feels strange to know that this night, Val will not be coming through the door, her cheeks red, her skin icy cold to the touch. 

               Jon must be thinking the same thing because his hand tightens on hers. "Have you been alright today?"

               Sansa returns the squeeze, turning to face Jon. "I have. I...I miss her dreadfully, but it isn't as though she's gone forever. And this journey is important to her."

               Jon nods, but Sansa cannot quite read his expression. Leaning a little closer, she lays her free hand tentatively on his knee. "And you?"

               "The same. I miss her, but understand her need to go." Then he lifts one hand, gently knuckling a strand of hair from her cheek. As he does, his finger brushes her earlobe and a sudden bolt of heat shoots through Sansa, pooling in her lower body. "And I missed you," Jon says, his voice rougher than before. He's pushed her hair back now, but the knuckle of his index finger continues to stroke her cheek, his eyes hot as they roam over her face. "I knew you wanted to be alone, and I wanted to respect that-,"

               "I didn't want to be alone," Sansa blurts out, and Jon's finger stills, his gaze meeting hers. "I thought that perhaps _you_...you did not desire my company today, so I kept to my chambers."

               For a moment, Jon only blinks at her. And then, he shakes his head, a rueful smile quirking his lips. "So the two of us have spent the entire day apart and miserable for no good reason?"

               Sansa does not answer, but then Jon leans in and kisses her softly. Jon's lips are closed, gentle against hers, but it is still the first kiss they have ever shared without Val there.  Sansa finds it does not feel disloyal at all. It feels nice. _Right_. 

               Her hands come up to rest on Jon's shoulders as he pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together. "I desire your company every moment of every day, Sansa," he murmurs against her lips, and Sansa sighs, his words lodging somewhere deep inside her. 

               "I desire _you_ every moment of every day," he continues, and this time when they kiss, Sansa opens her mouth under his, loving the stroke of his tongue against hers, the rasp of his beard on her skin. He kisses her slowly and deeply, kisses her until the ache she'd felt all day dissipates, until a very different sort of ache settles between her legs. 

               When Jon's hands fall to her hips, Sansa lets him pull her astride his lap. She grasps the back of the sofa with both hands, and Jon's own hands slide up her body to cup her breasts through the thin linen of her nightshift.  He's hard beneath her, and suddenly, Sansa feels she is wearing entirely too many clothes. Without breaking the kiss she wiggles out of her dressing gown, the movement making both of them groan. Jon begins moving the hem of her nightshift up her thighs just as she reaches for his shirt, wanting to feel his skin. For a moment, they're too consumed with kissing one another breathless to realize they are acting at cross purposes, Jon's grip on Sansa's shift preventing her from getting his shirt any higher than his navel, Sansa's hands on Jon's shirt keeping her shift trapped at her waist. Only the tearing of cloth brings both of them out of their haze, and they look down at their tangled hands.

               "Oh dear," Sansa giggles, breathless, and Jon smiles as well, reaching up to cuff his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down until their foreheads touch. 

               "Bloody complicated making love to only one woman," he tells her, and while Sansa laughs, some part of her still longs for Val. 

               But she drops a kiss on the tip of Jon's nose. "An extra pair of hands _is_ quite helpful."

               Jon gives a soft huff of laughter before tipping his head back to meet her eyes. His hand moves from her neck to the small of her back, rubbing in small circles. "But we'll make do," he tells her.  There's a sudden tightness in Sansa's chest, but it's a sweet one, and Sansa is not sure if she has ever loved him more than she does in this moment. 

               "We will," she agrees softly. 

               There is more kissing then, and soft touches, and hips rolling over hips until Sansa is gasping against his mouth, her hands clenched tight on Jon's shoulders.

               Groaning, Jon nips at her lower lip. "Shall we go to bed?" he asks, and for such a simple question, it sets Sansa's blood alight. She has never gone to bed with him and only him, and the thought is as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

               Still, she bites at his lip in return, reveling in the way he bucks up against her when she does. "Yes, please."

               He stands, lifting her up with him and Sansa instinctively wraps her legs around his waist, humming with pleasure as Jon kisses her and begins slowly walking backwards. 

               "I must admit," he says between kisses, "that I am looking forward to properly breaking in this bed."

               Laughing, Sansa lets him deposit her in the middle of the mattress, watching him as he begins to pull off his boots. "I'll have you know Val and I have more than broken this in," she tells him, blushing a little. 

               Jon pauses in the act of pulling his tunic over his head and swallows heavily. "Have you indeed?" he asks, his voice slightly hoarse, and Sansa grins, tucking her legs up under her. 

               "Indeed," she echoes, letting as much suggestion as she possibly can color that one word. Perhaps Val doesn't need to be here to make her brave after all.  Perhaps Val is so much a part of Sansa that she can be brave without her.

               " _Gods_ ," Jon moans, dropping his tunic and coming to kneel before her in the bed. 

               Sansa rises on her knees to meet him, their lips brushing together before Jon's tongue smoothes along her lower lips, making her shiver. It's odd, after all the ways they've known each other, but somehow, having him all to herself makes this feel brand new.

               She tells Jon that when he pulls his mouth from hers and begins pushing her nightdress down her shoulder, lips skimming along her neck.

               "It's as though this were our wedding night," she laughs breathlessly, and Jon sucks a hot, pink mark just below her ear. 

               "It is," he mumbles against her skin, arms tight around her waist.

               When he raises his head to look at her, his hair tumbles in curls over his forehead, and his eyes are so hot, so loving, that she can't seem to remember why she was ever frightened of this.

               "Tell me," he says, reaching up to cup her jaw. "Tell me what you would have me do."

               Sansa feels her cunt pulse in response, her fingers flexing on his shoulders. Has there ever been an offer more arousing than that?

               "Anything," she whispers against his lips. "Anything and everything. I want your mouth on me, Jon, and your hands, and I want to use my mouth on _you_ , and I want-,"

               She doesn't get any further than that. With a growl from somewhere deep in his chest, Jon kisses her again, pulling her flush against him, one hand buried in her hair, the other tight around her waist. When he bears her back to the bed, she goes willingly, her thighs falling open, her hips pressing up, rubbing against his cock through his breeches. 

               He does everything she asked. He suckles at her breasts through her nightdress while she writhes and pants beneath him, and then he disposes with her gown altogether, licking and sucking between her legs until Sansa thinks she could weep from the pleasure. It's different from what Val had done that afternoon, Jon's skin rougher, his mouth more desperate, but it's just as good and Sansa could not care if everyone in Winterfell hears her cries.

               Jon brings her to her peak twice before she pushes him onto his back and, using everything Val taught her, runs her tongue over him, takes him into her mouth, loving the way he moans her name, the tightness of his fists in her hair. 

               He pulls her up at the last moment, spending against her belly as they kiss, hungrily and with little finesse, and Sansa clutches at him, overwhelmed and so, so grateful. They have needed Val, clearly, but they are not quite as lost without her as Sansa had feared, and for the first time since she was wedded, something in Sansa's chest begins to loosen and unfurl.

               Later, after Jon has cleaned them both up with his discarded tunic, they lay amongst the wrecked sheets, watching the fire burn down.

               Drowsy and sated, Sansa rolls on top of him so that her body is flush with his, stacking her hands on his chest.  Jon trails a lazy hand down her spine to the curve of her backside, smiling sleepily at her as she rests her chin on her hands, studying him.

               His eyes are warm, and his hair is a riot of inky curls, and Sansa feels such a sudden wave of affection and love wash over her that it is all she can do not to bury her head against his chest and laugh at the sheer joy of it. Instead, she reaches up and gingerly pushes one of those curls from his forehead. "When we have a child, I hope he has hair like yours."

               The words are dreamy, spoken almost without thought, but Jon raises his head slightly to better meet her eyes. "When?" he asks, his voice surprisingly rough. "Not...not _if_?"

               Sansa blinks at him, feeling unsure again all of the sudden. "Well...yes," she says at last. Her cheeks flame, although she isn't sure why. "I'm your wife, it's only natural that I bear your child." A thought occurs to her and it's like throwing a bucket of cold water on her pleasure-warmed skin. Of course, how _stupid_ of her not to realize. "Unless...because of what we once were to one another, you'd rather Val be the only-,"

               She is trying to slide off of him now, but his hands come down on her hips, holding her firmly in place. "Shhh, shhh," he says, as though she were a horse he were trying to calm. "Sansa."

               Jon presses his lips to her temple, kissing her there, before moving to her cheeks, her nose, and finally, her lips. Earlier, his kisses were all hunger and need. Now they are gentle and slow but no less devastating. Sansa finds herself clinging to him as he sits up, cradling her in his lap. Underneath her, he is hard, but he makes no move to slide into her. Instead, he pulls back, sweeping her hair from her face.

               "I would love nothing more in this world than for you to carry my child, Sansa," he tells her, a little breathless. "My _children_. I only thought that you might not...that it would be distasteful to you somehow...," he breaks off, sighing. "I was being foolish. I'm sorry."

               Relief tastes as sweet as honey in her mouth, as sweet as his kisses, and she does laugh now, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He squeezes her in response, murmuring, "We still have much to learn about one another, don't we?"

               She thinks of the two of them, waiting in their separate chambers, unsure of whether or not they were wanted when Val was not there to be a kind of tether between them. "We do," she admits, letting him carry her back down to the bed. This time, he rolls her to her back, his body pressed hard against her side, fingers tracing a hot, ticklish path in between her breasts. Reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair, she tugs his head to meet her gaze. "We must be honest from now on. Even without Val here to make us so."

               His mouth crooks in a half-smile. "We are a bit useless without her," he admits, and Sansa feels a little pang, wanting nothing more to see Val's wry grin, to have her pressed close and warm on Sansa's other side. But then she remembers what Val had said before she left. _Use this time together. You need it, both of you._

               And so even though Sansa wants to let the subject drop and give in to Jon's soft touches, she makes herself say, "I share your bed every night. What would make you think I would find having your child distasteful?"

               His ears color and he doesn't take his eyes of the hand he has on her stomach. After a moment, Sansa covers that hand with her own. "Jon. Honest."

               Heaving a sigh, he lifts his head, meeting her gaze. "It  is one thing to lie with a man, Sansa. It's another to be the mother of his children. Given how we grew up and what you thought of me, and how infrequently we lie together-,"

               Sansa gives a startled laugh. "Infrequently? Jon, since the night we three were wed, I've hardly had my hands off of you. Either of you. Both of you."

               "Your hands _and_ your mouth," he reminds her, his voice low, eyes hot enough to sear her skin. Sansa blushes furiously and only just manages to keep herself from covering her face with both hands. Still, Jon sees her reaction and chuckles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her stomach.

               "Gods," he growls, mouth sliding lower. "When I see you with your face between Val's legs...,"

               Sansa emits a sound very close to a squeak, but with every ounce of willpower she has, she fists a hand in his hair and once again tugs him up to her. "Later," she says shakily. "But answer me first. What do you mean we don't lie together often?"

               Jon gives one last longing look to her spread thighs before pushing himself back up the bed to lie beside her. Rolling onto her side, Sansa faces him, waiting. "You do realize," he says at last, "that the things we do...well, they aren't the sort of things that make children."

               Wrinkling her nose, Sansa goes to protest, only to realize that...no, he is right. The three of them have come up with so many varied ways to pleasure one another that they often spend entire nights doing _only_ those things and never get around to the actual...

               "Oh," she says softly. 

               "Oh," Jon echoes, reaching down to take her hand. Tangling it with his, he lifts it to his mouth, kissing each of her fingertips. "I love kissing you and touching you. Tasting you," he mumbles against her skin. "And I thought...I thought perhaps the reason that you never asked for more was because you didn't wish to have children."

               She's still flushed and red, but Sansa manages to lift an eyebrow. "The reason I never ask for anything more is because I'm usually too exhausted." She taps on finger against that lush, perfect mouth, and now it is his turn to blush, and oh, gods, her heart can hardly take it, so she has to kiss him. Absolutely must.

               She does, loving the sound he makes low in his chest, the way his hands reach up to cup her face, the slight tremble in his fingers.

               Letting him roll her beneath him, Sansa opens her thighs in a blatant invitation, but Jon simply pushes himself on his arms to look down at her. "You would, then," he says, almost hesitantly. "Like to have a child."

               She wants to tease him, to arch up into him and say that her feelings on the matter should be quite evident. But she senses that this is not the time for teasing. That this is very, very important to him.

               And so she lifts her head to kiss him gently. "Yes," she whispers against his mouth. "I want to have a child. _Your_ child."

               He smiles at her, a pure, honest smile that makes him look years younger, and Sansa suddenly hopes any babe they might make- _every_ babe they might make- has that same, beautiful grin. 

               "Of course, that will require more than just talking, Jon," she reminds him a little archly, and Jon laughs before kissing her again, harder and hotter this time. 

               "Indeed it will," he breathes when they part. 

               She's still terribly wet from Jon's earlier attentions, and he slides into her easily. Still, she stiffens slightly and realizes just how long it's been since he was last inside her. 

               "Alright?" he asks, his voice tight, and she digs her fingers into his shoulders, nodding. 

               "Yes. Oh, Jon, _yes_."

               He moves slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, and Sansa's discomfort quickly gives way to pleasure. It's not the same mind-numbing ecstasy that comes over her when Jon or Val use their mouths on her, but it's still good and sweet and Sansa finds her lips parting open, her eyes fluttering shut. Lifting her hips, she meets his thrusts, wrapping a leg around him. As he slides deeper, they both sigh and Jon kisses her so gently that Sansa feels tears suddenly spring to her eyes. 

               "I love you," he murmurs, and she can only hold him tighter in response. 

               "So much," Jon continues, burying his face in her neck as he begins to move faster. "Sweet girl. My own sweet girl. Sansa, gods, _Sansa_...,"

               They're both moving erratically now, Sansa arching her back, wanting to get closer, to get more, Jon panting as he moves inside her. When he pulls back enough to slip a hand between their bodies, rubbing against the bud at the top of her sex, she cries out, her nails digging into his back hard enough to break the skin.

               But if she hurts Jon, he doesn't seem to care, his teeth a sharp, lovely sting against her neck as his release pulses inside of her. 

               _A child_ , she thinks, almost stunned by how badly she wants such a thing. _A beautiful babe to hold in my arms, to keep here at Winterfell forever. A child with my eyes and Jon's smile, nestled in Val's arms._

When Jon raises his head, his eyes are suspiciously bright, and she wonders if his thoughts are similar to hers. And when he rolls onto his back and tucks her against his side, his lips warm against her temple, she thinks they must be.

               Confirming her wonderings, Jon nuzzles her hair and says, "So we have a project then, while Val is away."

               Sansa chuckles and presses closer to him, so happy she could melt from it. "She would want us to remain occupied."

               "She would," Jon agrees, his hand sliding up and down her back. "And we must be sure we have many...encounters to tell her about when she returns."

               Lifting her head, Sansa looks at her husband and not for the first time, thanks the gods for bringing her this much happiness, this much security. "We only have a month, my lord," she says, cupping his face and bringing his mouth to hers for a lingering kiss. "So we'd best get started."

               Jon kisses her back, his tongue lazily dragging against hers. "Have we not already begun?" he asks once she's pulled away.

               And Sansa smiles, pushing him to his back. "Not remotely."


End file.
